


Foggy & Clear

by herbailiwick



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comfort, Gen, Soulless Sam Winchester, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 06:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://johncroftianlullaby.tumblr.com/post/36791962147/winter-drawing-writing-challenge">Winter Writing/Drawing Challenge</a> Day 26 - Foggy Breaths</p><p>Some things in his mind are ever-changing, and some have enough use that he can cling to them.</p><p>Rated PG-13 for language and themes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foggy & Clear

"You okay?" She's always asking him that. He tries to answer her to the best of his ability, because she's nice. Sometimes she even defends him. 

He remembers when everyone worried about him so much that she was the only one who hadn't voted him off Campbell Island. Everyone says he's a good hunter, but he sees the fear in them all sometimes. He sees the way they might shake their heads or, well, there was that one time that Mark held a gun to his head until he admitted he was sorry for what had happened to that innocent man. He'd said it, of course. He'd lied through his teeth because the man had been a casualty of the hunt.

Usually, his transgressions are forgiven because he gets the job done. It's only Gwen who sticks by him in the down time. It's Gwen who says, "Hey, thought you might want to check this one out," about old books, who watches him pour over things and feed his mind.

He was sick with a nasty cold once, his thoughts less clear, which had scared him. He'd put up a good front, but his cloudy thoughts and his aching body had felt like forever states. She'd tucked him in and taken care of him.

He likes Gwen. He likes her like he likes the security of plaid and a jacket and the light of sunshine after a rain and the way his own strands of hair fall uniquely into place and move around and the way new information feels heavy and invigorating in his mind when he feeds it.

She thinks he's weird. She tells him he's a dick, is a sociopath, is one hell of a freaky slab of beefcake, and that makes him laugh. He'd say he was sorry at first, but she told him he wasn't actually sorry, so he stopped. He just settles for her strange and unwarranted affection now and makes no apology for himself, for his actions.

Her breath fogs now as she asks him if he's okay.

"I am now," he teases, smiling a smile that doesn't quite fill his eyes. She steps a little closer, leans her small shoulder against him.

"It's Christmas Eve," she says with a smile. "And this cabin is awesome."

"I love this cabin," Sam confirms.

"What a piss-poor winter, huh? No snow."

"There's still a chance we might get some tomorrow," Sam says brightly. Because, no, he can't feel love for someone, not like he used to, but he still feels things at times, like hope. Always hope, something he'll never really escape, it seems, at least not with Gwen around.

She presses a little closer. "Should have brought my coat out," she complains, and he wraps himself around her as best he can. He gets the physical. He totally understands physical comfort, when he cares enough to consider offering it.

"You're avoiding Christmas. You weren't always like this, right?" she asks curiously.

"Something down there fucked me up," Sam says, trying to warm her arms with his giant-ass hands. "I used to care about Christmas. I used to care that I never got one. I say...fuck Christmas."

She turns to look up at him, and she's smiling. "You're so broken," she laughs. "Seriously, Hell must be hell."

"It wasn't so bad," he teases, though he's already recounted some of it to her. It made her vomit once, so he's more careful about how much he shares at once.

"Majorly fucked up. This is why people aren't supposed to come back, or when they do they come back as demons. Lucifer's bitch boy, up here among the living."

"You know, I found out about hunting at Christmas," Sam says blankly. She allows him to be blank sometimes, and he likes that. "I found Dad's journal. Dean tried to deny it, but the facts were all there. That was a bad night. He stole presents for me that year."

"Where was John?"

Sam laughs, so loudly and quickly it startles her, and he holds her still as he laughs some more, leaning over her a little for support. "Gwen, John wasn't a Christmas guy either. Maybe he felt unworthy or something. I feel unworthy right now."

"Yeah?" she asks, squirming, turning around, tilting her head. "You feel unworthy?"

"Um." Sam pauses. "Okay, go with me on this." She always does. "I'm not talking about feeling like...like I'm a monster. Because...I know I should feel that way, but we both know I don't, right?" He pauses so she can agree. "Anyway, I'm talking about...uh. Say you know that you earned an A on a test, right? But you know you cheated. I'm not...I'm not talking about guilt, obviously. But I still _know_. I still know that, practically, I'm dumb as a rock. That's me with emotions, you know?"

"Dumb as a rock?" her breath fogs out as she looks up at him. "Yeah, I could see that."

Sam grins the best grin he can.

"I bought you something," Gwen says. "So don't hide out all night."

Sam gives her a slow, methodical hug, which she returns before she goes back into the cabin.

He feels a little aroused by her closeness. He can't help it. But his mind, his mind he loves and tries to hone and feed and comfort, tells him no. She's Gwen, and he's never going to go there with her, and just that one boundary inside of his mind makes him feel safe. He likes to give himself rules. There aren't enough rules to handle life, especially life as a hunter, but he'll try. He'll really try. And Gwen's a big reason why.


End file.
